Thursday 10 November 2011 08.51 EST
First published on Thursday 10 November 2011 08.51 EST

"The man that hath no music in himself/ Nor is not mov'd with concord of sweet sounds/ Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils." The Merchant of Venice (V, i, 83-85).

Ah, the Bard. Last week I filled my lungs with the smell of grease paint as I considered your nominations for the best songs about treading the boards. RR commentators are of course schooled in the classics, one being Sons of the Stage by World of Twist, a post-baggy indie-dance gem.

The curtain opens, to reveal the tragic figure of Gene Pitney, unable to enjoy the trappings of success because he's wallowing in self-pity. It's a performance of such melodrama, you've got to feel sorry for him, haven't you? No? Well, try the Portishead-esque Death of a Thespian by Oakland's Themselves. Its lyrics are intense and moving: "Disguise … forced, so devout and rarely felt." Though the track's placing of actors at the centre of the universe ("Our war is but to entertain") sails dangerously close to Private Eye's Luvvies column.

But don't think that thesps don't suffer for their art. The main player in The Actor's Opprobrium regrets his "role in snuff film by Gene Genet". "What does it mean when the stagehand approaches wheeling in a guillotine?" Search me. For their part, Of Montreal play to the gallery with winning jauntiness and wit. The Band's soulful and sorrowful Stage Fright, meanwhile, captures the existential horror of performance, its players trapped in a Kafka-esque prison, condemned to keep repeating the same show.

Smack's Edward Fox is an oddity championed by John Peel circa 1980, its lyrics gleaned from an interview with the great man in the New Manchester Review. The great man being Fox, star of stage and screen commended here for his "complete lack of condescension". "I like this country, don't you? I like the people," he muses. "Bit dull sometimes, but so what? I also think the best things in theatre happen here."

"You're the entertainer," sings Detroit singer Tony Clarke on a classy 1965 Chess single, all shimmering guitar chords and Farfisa organ. It's all about casting your woes to one side because "the show must go on".

Of course, we're not just actors playing roles. We're also spectators, as Andy Partridge & Co make clear in the subversive I Am the Audience. And we're not going to tolerate substandard performances: "Break down the pretence … let's turn to violence!" Jerky new wave par excellence.

Debbie Harry's ice-cool dulcets are the perfect vehicle for Angel on the Balcony, a song whose lyrics evoke a theatrical apparition. Its shimmering synth, Atomic-style guitar, bubbling bass, and Clem Burke's mod drumming serve as a useful reminder of what a versatile band Blondie were.

On Benediction, literate Winnipeg band the Weakerthans take that "all the world's a stage" cliche and turn it into a thing of beauty and insight, abetted by George Harrison-ish slide guitar. The protagonist scrambles in vain for signs that will enable navigation, but finds none. It's too late: "Turn and stumble off the stage."

Addiction to the limelight is hinted at by eastern European folk-favourers Beirut. Zach Condon asks on After the Curtain: "What will you do when the curtain falls?" I tell you what you do – you get back on that stage. Encore provided an upbeat closer to Digitalism's last album, its filtered bass happlily recalling the beloved Daft Punk.